Do You Remember Me, Panem?
by ThatFoolOfATook
Summary: Approximately 19 of us every year. The tributes who aren't unique, who are ugly, or don't have something big in our favor. We don't even die well. But we were people, with individual lives, families, and interests. 19 times 75 equals 1,425. That's a lot of people dead, Snow. And that's a lot of families grieving, Gamemakers. My name is Hanni Lockheart. And this is my story, Panem.
1. Prologue

**Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at Hunger Games fan-fiction. Please tell me what you think! I'm very open to advice, **

**Anyway, the idea for this story came from when I was reading The Hunger Games, and kept coming across parts where a tribute's name was forgotten. How _wrong _that is. And it made me want to cry to realize the number of kids who died, and would be forgotten, because they were overshadowed by the winning tribute. Also, surely, there were tributes who went into the arena and _couldn't _kill. Sure, Peeta and Katniss didn't _want _to. But they did.  
**

**Well, what about the kids who didn't? What about the ugly or shy kids who didn't get any sponsors? I was overwhelmed by thinking about the sheer number of grieving families, left in the Districts.  
**

**Anyhow, please review this! I really want to know what you think. This will have multiple chapters, and this is the prologue.  
**

**~ThatFoolOfATook  
**

Prologue:

Do you remember me? You probably don't. Almost no one does, and almost no one would. That's because I am one of the 1,425. 'The 1,425?', you ask, wondering what on earth I'm talking about. Well, let me tell you.

Of the 24 tributes sent into the arena for The Hunger Games every year, only approximately 5 of them, every year, are memorable in any way. They are the Johannas, the Mags', the Finnicks, the Chaffs, the Rues, the Haymitchs, the Brutus', the Cloves, the Enobarias, the Cashmeres, the Catos, the Peetas, and the Girls on Fire. Some of them make names for themselves by winning the Games. Others fight spectacularly, and die an interesting death. Or, maybe, they just looked well on the interviews, and had a great stylist.

Either way, that leaves 19 of us every year: Those tributes who died at the Cornucopia. Those tributes who died in 'natural' disasters, without another tribute nearby. Those tributes who didn't put up a fight, because they had no hope. Those tributes who, on the outside, had nothing unique. But on the inside, every one of us was a real person. We were individuals, with individual lives, families, and interests. And approximately 19 of us died every year. Multiply that times 74, adding 19 more for that second Quarter Quell, and you get 1,425 of us. That's a lot of people dead, President Snow. That's a lot of families grieving for a child who was torn from them forever, People of the Districts. And that's a lot of innocent people turned into monsters, Gamemakers.

My name is Hanni Lockheart.

And this is my story, Panem.


	2. The Reaping

Daylight streams in my bedroom window, awakening me on the day of the Reaping. It's a quiet morning here in District 5, because everyone is just silently dreading what is to come. Two kids are going to get torn from their family, and sent into an arena where they'll be killed, never to return to their District. A victor from 5 is very rare, you see. We're not Careers. We're not strong. Whether we're talented with weapons or not depends completely on the person.

Myself? I can use a sling. When I have to. But I don't have much faith in being able to get very far with it.

I slide into my only nice dress, which I wear probably only a couple times a year. One of those occasions is the Reaping. It's only nice, because it's a dress! The color is dark green, which is my favorite. The fabric is fitted on top, and the sleeves fall to my elbows. The skirt is long-ish, coming half-way down my calves. It's plain. It's old. But it was my mother's, and I finally grew into it last Reaping.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror, and sigh. I guess I'm not _ugly. _But I'm rather unremarkable. Red hair falls past my shoulder, without the slightest hint of a wave or curl. My face is pale, with quite a few freckles that stand out against the starkness of my skin. Green eyes stare back at me from my reflection, full of apprehension.

After I'm dressed, I walk downstairs, to check on my siblings. Four of them there are, with one of them too old to be Reaped, and one of them who's too young. Only myself, Jem, and Kat, are eligible for the Games this year.

Match is lucky, being nineteen. And I have no idea how he managed to escape being Reaped all these years... he's been collecting tesserae for a long time, with all of us to feed. My mum died three years ago, and my dad work all day, with Match, at the power plant. I work there two days a week. Normally I'd have to work more often, but they made an exception for me, since I'm basically doing my mum's work here at home.

"Hanni!" Kat calls, breaking me out of my thoughts. I turn and look at her, as she comes out of the other bedroom, where she was dressing Jem. He just turned twelve, so this is his first Reaping. Kat is fourteen, and very capable. She must have gotten up far before me, in order to dress herself, and then make sure Jem was up and on the right track towards being ready. I feel a little guilty for sleeping in, but if there's one thing Hanni Lockheart loves, it's sleep. Especially after a long day's work, cooking, cleaning, doing dishes, and washing laundry. But it won't be too long before Kat is old enough to take over at the house, and I'll be working full time at the power plant.

Kat is wearing a yellow dress, made of a fine material. I've never seen the dress before, and I have the feeling that it's a present from Jamalia Circuit, one of our few past victors. Jamalia lives in one of the victor's houses at the side of town, and about last month, she took a fancy to Kat. I think Jamalia loves Kat because she reminds her of the younger sister she once had, who was killed in the Games about ten years back. Jamalia is in her thirties, now.

My little (or not so little anymore!) sister looks beautiful, with her slender figure incased in that shimmering yellow fabric. Her auburn hair is, unlike mine, curly, and falls in neat ringlets to her waist. Kat has the most gorgeous eyes that I've ever seen, big and green, with long black lashes.

Two years ago, when I was fourteen, and she was twelve, we absolutely hated each other. I have no idea why. But in the last few months, we've come to appreciate each other more.

"Kat, you look lovely," I say, smiling at her, while dragging Jem back towards me, from where he was trying to escape down the stairs. "Come back here, you idiot. Your shirt isn't tucked in."

Jem rolls his eyes, but tucks his shirt in, and then, pretending to be a model, he starts rotating in a circle, while stuck in a ridiculous pose, to let me double check his appearance. For some strange reason, he's not very nervous about the Reaping. On _my _first Reaping Day, I was terrified.

After a few minutes, we're all gathered at the kitchen table, hurrying down whatever breakfast we can manage, before we have to leave for the village square. Match looks more tense then he usually does, because I think he's finally realizing how our father feels on Reaping Day- helpless on the sidelines.

My father, Chaney, is trying to put on a brave face, for the rest of us. "You all look wonderful, kids," he says. "I'm very proud of my family."

Little four-year-old Aida speaks up, frowning. "How come _I _can't get dressed up, Hanni?" I try and smile, even though I'm dying from nervousness. "Because only big kids dress up today, Aidi-honey. When you're twelve, you can too!"

God forbid. I'm dreading the year when sweet little Aida has to be among the older children on Reaping Day. Because by that time, _I'll _be helpless on the sidelines.

Finally, we're all down in the village square, assembled and divided into two groups, male and female. There's an awful lot of kids here, and I can't help thinking about how two of them will probably be dead within the next couple weeks.

I glance around me, looking for my siblings. Kat is right next to me. Jem is over with the boys, right near the middle. And he's finally starting to look nervous, like the reality of the situation is finally dawning on him. He could get Reaped. But, thank heaven, his name is only in there once. Mine is in there five times. It would be in there more, but my responsible older brother would never allow me to sign up for tesserae.

Speaking of Match, there he is with a group of young men who are just above Reaping age, standing to the side. He's chewing on his bottom lip looking very concerned, and utterly oblivious to the fact that about ten different teenage girls are casting romantic and adoring glances at him, each thinking that he's worried about _their _individual fate. Please. The sight cheers me up slightly, however, because it makes me smile. Match doesn't even realize how good-looking he is, and how many girls would think him a great matrimonial catch.

A sonic thumping sound comes from on stage, where I turn to see that Keelgan Flanderfling is standing, testing the microphone, and straightening his bright yellow hair. Not yellow as in _golden_ hair, but more like neon yellow. He's the guy from the Capitol who draws the names every year for District Five.

Flanderfling clears his throat into the mic, and then beams at everybody. It's an odd contrast to his usual face, which is as solemn and droopy as a ninety-nine year old judge.

"Happy Hunger Games!" he booms. "Let's draw from the boys first this time, shall we? It'll make for a fun change." He grins at everybody, like he just made a hilarious joke.

Hilarious? Either way, two kids are still going to die. What does it matter whether the girls or the boys go first?

He sticks his hand into the glass bowl, and swishes his hand around for a minute, to stir the names up, even though they've already been stirred a thousand times. Flanderfling draws a piece of paper, and unfolds it with a flourish.

Here it comes. "Sean Lighter!"

I feel almost as sick as if Jem had been picked. Sean has been a friend of my family for an awfully long time. He's a year younger then me, and our families have basically grown up together. Jem looks up to him. Kat has a crush on him. He's like another brother to me and Match.

Kat gets a stricken look on her face, and presses her hand to her mouth, to keep from screaming. I'm proud of her for keeping composure, but I'm barely coping, myself.

Sean moves slowly from the crowd of boys, and walks on stage. Flanderfling beams at him, and puts a hand on Sean's shoulder. Only people who know Sean very well can tell that he barely stiffens at the touch. He recovers his presence of mind and relaxes, but his chin goes up, he folds his arms, and he stares over the heads of the people.

_Good job, Sean. _

He's handling this relatively well. In the meantime, Flanderfling is already pawing around in the bowl with the girl's names. Drawing out a slip, he read off the name.

"Hanni Lockheart!"

It takes a few moments to register that he just called _my _name. Then, panic overtakes me. _No!_ my head is screaming, while my feet refuse to budge.

Kat is visibly crying, and a friend is holding her back from grabbing me. Jem screams my name once, looks around wildly, and then realizes that he can't do anything. His face contorts, but he keeps from making another outburst. Someone gives me a gentle push from behind, and this wakes up my feet. I start walking, and eventually find myself on stage, on the other side of Flanderfling from Sean.

My vision automatically finds and focuses on familiar faces in the crowd. Match is standing, arms folded, with a face of stone. His eyes are the only things that look alive, and if I didn't know him better, I'd swear that there were tears in them for a moment. One of his friends, Dannder, sets a hand on Match's shoulder for an instant, as a gesture of comfort, but my brother doesn't move. I find my father is crying, but silently, and his watery eyes meet mine briefly.

The loving look in them reassure me for a moment, but then the horrible, horrible reality comes back, when Flanderfling starts to speak again.

"And here are our District Five tributes for the 52nd Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in their favor."

Capitol people then come up onto the stage, to lead us away. I can only hope that I'll have time to tell my family goodbye, later. Sean walks stolidly next to me, and we both remain silent, sharing each other's anguish.


	3. Decision

Sean and I are taken to the train station, and put in separate rooms, to wait for our Capitol entourage to get their things together, and ready to move out.

I sit staring blankly out the station window, seeing nothing, but thinking of much.

Replaying the Reaping in my head. Imagining the grief my poor family must be feeling, that can certainly be no less than mine. Wondering how I will die. For I'm certainly not coming out of that arena alive: I don't have it in me. I'm a sixteen-year-old girl used to cooking meals, greasy work at a power plant, and changing babies diapers.

The door to the station room creaks open, and a Peacekeeper lets Match in.

He hurries over next to me, and gives me a giant hug, before releasing me, and looking into my eyes.

"Hanni. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I manage to reply, my eyes starting to fill up with tears. We _both _know that I won't be returning.

Match and I stand there in silence, since there is nothing to say. I know that he loves me, and will miss me. He knows the same about me. Finally, he squeezes my hand, and then turns to leave.

"Bye, Match," I say. And then I add "Please, please be there for the little ones," even though I know he will.

He faces me again, and nods. "Bye, Hanni."

Then he's gone.

The Peacekeepers next let in Kat, Jem, and Aida. I hug them, tearfully, trying not to break down. Let's at least let their last minute with their older sister be when she's still sane and generally composed.

Kat lingers behind the others while they're leaving, and I get the feeling she wants to say something else. I'm right.

"Hanni..." she bursts into tears. "I'm sorry about borrowing your hairbrush without permission."

What? I stare at her, not sure what she's talking about. She sees this, and it makes her cry all the harder.

"I-it's the only thing I can think of that I never apologized to you for."

Poor, dear, Kat! It would be funny, if the situation weren't so horrible. She's never going to see me again, and wants to make sure there's no grudge between us before I die. But- a _hairbrush?_

Glad for something that I can smile about, I choke over a laugh, even though my eyes are still brimming with tears. Reaching over to Kat, I hug her close to me. "Kat, honey. I don't care about the hairbrush. It's okay. I love you so much!"

She calms down a bit, and seems to realize the slight absurdity of her statement, and this brings a small smile to her face, too.

We say goodbye, and then Kat's gone, too.

My father, Chaney, is the last to visit. His face looks old, and careworn, but he smiles at me. "Hanni, sweetheart."

Caressing my hair, he looks down into my eyes.

"I love you so much, Hanni."

"I know, Daddy."

"Hanni-" he hesitates, before continuing, still stroking my hair gently. "In the arena... don't do anything you'd regret. True courage is _not_ doing something that goes against your principles, even in this kind of situation."

My father lowers his voice. "Snow may be evil, and the Capitol may be evil, but that doesn't justify _you _killing innocent people, just because they try and force you to."

I nod, because I really do understand what he means. Then, even though I bite my lip, I can't help the tears completely overflowing this time. With a sob, I wrap my arms around my dad, and hide my face in his shoulder. This is the last fatherly advice he'll ever give me.

He hugs me back, tightly, and even though I can't see his face now, I know he's crying too.

"Believe me, I don't want to lose you, Hanni. You're my daughter. And I'm not trying to force you into doing something you don't want to do, either. Whether you come home or not, I love you, and you're a victor in my book. Do you understand?"

He puts his hands on my shoulders, and moves me so he can see my face.

"Yes I do," I reply, and wipe a few tears off of my cheek. I'm filled with a strong resolve, and I look straight at my father. "Daddy, I'm going into that arena, and I'm not coming back."

My father looks straight back at me, searchingly. "Hanni, are you sure? I was just giving advice, and you don't have to follow it. I'll still love you, even if you did decide to play the Games."

I take a deep breath. "I'm sure. I just made this decision for myself. I don't want the Capitol to turn me into a murderer."

My voice drops to almost a whisper, and I look at the floor. "But I'm terrified."

* * *

Finally, I'm fetched by Flanderfling and a few others to the train.

Once on board, I'm shown to my room, and given a small tour. It's amazing, really! If I wasn't so down about leaving District 5, and going to my certain death, then maybe I could actually enjoy it a bit more.

The room is fairly large, with a big window that lets in a lot of light. There's curtains that I can close when I want privacy. Another door leads into the extravagant bathroom, that I get all to myself.

I make myself a promise to try every luxury offered in that bathroom, after I get more settled.

The Avox assigned to me, a girl named Helia, shows me my wardrobe. It is absolutely _unbelievable_. But I have no sense of fashion, and I have the feeling Kat would enjoy it more then I will!

Thinking of Kat drowns the interest that had started to bubble into me, and I flop down upon the big bed, and decide to take a nap.

I think it's about two hours later, that Helia shakes me awake.

Pointing at the wardrobe, and then motioning towards the door and making eating motions, she manages to communicate the fact that I'm supposed to get dressed in something else, and then go join the others for a meal. Presumably lunch, since it's way too early for supper.

Dragging myself to the wardrobe, I try to see it through Kat's eyes. She's always trying to explain fashion to me, but I just don't get it. Colors that blend well or clash make sense to me because I'm not exactly color-blind, but as for styles...I'm hopeless, I guess.

But I make an effort, for Kat.

Black jeans. A short-sleeved turquoise blouse, that buttons up the front.

Scrunching up my nose at my reflection in the mirror, I decide that Kat would say to do something with my hair. After shoving a brush through it a few times and racking my brain, I give up and put my red hair up in a pony-tail.

There. That'll simply have to do. Sorry Kat, but I'm lost on this kind of thing without you here.

Leaving my room, I walk down the hall in the direction that Helia points me. Arriving at the dining car, I discover that the only other person there is Keelgan Flanderfling.

He turns around when I enter, and the corners of his droopy mouth turn up. "Well, hello there, Miss Lockheart. I see you're the second one here! The others will be here at anytime."

The others... Oh, yeah. Besides Sean, our mentors will be joining us. I guess that would be Jamalia Circuit, and... well, I don't know! We have two or three male victors in Five, but some of of them are fairly old now, and I don't know which one will make the journey.

As if in response to my mental query, another door opens, and Sean walks in, followed by two other people.

Jamalia smiles and nods at me, and takes a seat at the table.

He's about sixty years old, and clean-shaven, with his white hair cut short, military style. He nods crisply at me, and shakes my hand.

"Hello, Hanni. In case you don't remember my name, I'm Blaze Shelby."

I smile politely, and shake his hand in return. Blaze was the victor forty-four years ago, when he was only sixteen. He sits down on the other side of the table from Jamalia.

Sean gazes up and down the length of the long table, coolly. He then deliberately pulls out a chair at the end of the table that's as far away as he can get from everybody else.

He then shoots me a glance, defiantly, to see if I'll dare to reprove him for his action. I just barely shrug.

However, I realize that Sean could get in trouble for this. He's openly showing disdain for our mentors. In fact, I realize that he's still dressed in his clothes from District 5. He didn't even change clothes, like he was supposed to.

It's obvious that Sean is not happy with the situation, and he seems to be out to express contempt for the Capitol in every way possible.

Glancing quickly at our mentors, I notice that while Jamalia is just looking at Sean reprovingly, Blaze's eyes are narrowed.

My heart beating quickly, I walk down the length of the table, and sit across from Sean. Leaning forward, I tap him on the arm.

"Sean, for goodness sakes. What is your problem?"

He just looks at me.

"Sean, neither of us are very happy with this, okay? But can you at least be polite to our mentors?"

Sean folds his arms, stubbornly. "I don't like the Capitol, and I don't want to die, Hanni," he says, too quietly for the mentors to make out what he's saying.

I sigh, and put my head in my hands. "I know, Sean. Trust me, I know."

And I do. But we're helpless, against the Capitol.

Lifting my gaze again, I look him in the eye. "Look, we can talk about this later. I've made a decision about the Games, and my dad gave me some advice. Let's talk about this sometime, when we're alone."

I reach across the table, and touch his arm. "Just please,show some respect to the mentors. They're from our District, and they're people, just like you."

"They're victors, which means that they've killed a lot of innocent people," he says, but he unfolds his arms, which means he's relenting.

"You don't know their stories, Sean. Both of them fought before you were born."

Finally, he shrugs. "Okay, Hanni. I'll be polite. But I hope you know that I'm not planning on playing their stupid Game."

"Neither am I," I say, still quietly.

From what I can see, the mentors haven't made out a word we've said. But when the two of us walk down the length of the table again, and sit down next to Jamalia and Blaze, the elderly mentor gives me a satisfied nod.


	4. Trepidation

**Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long to post another part. **

**Thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming! I really appreciate them. By the way, one thing I'd like to know is: What do you think of the characters so far? Realistic? Or not? Good? Bad? Let me know what you think! **

**Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. =)**

**~ThatFoolOfATook**

* * *

_Chapter Four: Trepidation_

The rest of the meal passes with no major events.

Sensing that neither Sean _nor _I feel like discussing training and the arena, the mentors are silent on that subject. I inwardly thank them for this, because I want a chance to talk to Sean about it first.

But I know that in a few hours, we won't be so fortunate... it's the mentor's responsibility, after all, to prepare us.

* * *

After the meal is finished, we disperse to various places over the train. Jamalia goes back down the length of the train, towards her apartment. Blaze sits down in the living area, and flips on the T.V. Keelgan, who literally hadn't said a word the entire meal, and who had simply sat, gaping, when Sean had first acted up, disappears to who-knows-where.

I walk back to my room, but have barely had time to sit down on the bed, when there's a knock at my door. I know it's Sean.

"Come in."

Sean enters, and sits broodingly down on the other side of the bed. After a few minutes of silence, he speaks up.

"So, what advice did your dad give?"

I look up at the ceiling, not seeing the tiles, but rather my father's face hovering in my memory, speaking to me.

"Roughly, he said that true courage is sticking by your principles, even in a situation like this, where someone's trying to force you to do wrong."

Sean nods, biting his lip. "That's good advice." After another moment, he adds, "So is that what you're going to do? Not kill anyone?"

"Yeah," I say, glancing at him. "I don't think I could do it anyway. Kill someone, even if I wanted to win."

He looks at me. "So you don't want to win?"

Hugging my knees to my chest, I set my chin on top of them. "Killing innocent people is wrong. I want to go home, but I don't want to win. "

At the thought of home, the home I'll never return to, all my attempted bravado and stamina disappears, and is replaced with a flood of tears. The emotional stress of the day has finally taken over me, and it's not even the middle of the afternoon. Fat chance _I'd_ stand in the arena, even if I _tried._

I'm crying, while rocking myself back and forth, still curled up with my knees in front of me. I don't care what Sean thinks. He's seen me cry before, anyway. I don't even care if one of the mentors comes in. Tears are pouring down my cheeks, and I can't stop them.

"I don't want to win. I don't want to die. I didn't want any of this!" I sob. "It's not fair, Sean. Why couldn't someone else have gotten Reaped?"

He's staring at me, like he can't believe this is the person who was calming _him _down, earlier.

"Hanni-" And then he realizes that he doesn't have anything to say. Because I'm right. And he feels the exact same way.

He gets up from where he was sitting on my bed, and starts stomping up and down the room, furiously. Through my tears, I can tell that his fists are clenched, and his face is wildly contorting.

We continue like this for several minutes, with Sean pacing the floor angrily, and me sobbing my heart out. Finally, he picks up a lamp off the dresser, and smashes it to the floor. It breaks into a dozen pieces, and the loud crash breaks me out of my hysterics.

There's silence for a few seconds, because I've stopped crying, and Sean is standing still, glaring at the floor where the broken pieces lie.

Then, I hear the sound of someone running towards my room from down the train, and the door to this room bursts open. Blaze stands there, panting.

"What the $%#& do you think you're doi- Oh," he says, his first anger softening slightly.

I've obviously been crying, because my face is blotchy, and there are still tears all over my face. Sean is looking at Blaze, with a wild look in his dark eyes, and he's obviously the one who broke the lamp, because he's standing right over it.

Maybe Blaze is remembering when he was Reaped as a tribute, or maybe he just doesn't feel like dealing with us right now.

Either way, he just scowls at Sean, instead of scolding him.

"Clean that up. You two meet Jamalia and I in an hour, in the room with the television."

Sean doesn't reply, but I give a nod. Blaze leaves, and shuts the door behind him.

I've recovered my presence of mind a little bit, and I wipe my eyes. "I'm sorry, Sean. I shouldn't have lost it that way."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," he shoots back quickly. "I wasn't helping anything, pitching a fit."

He comes back over to the bed, and sits down next to me. We both stare at the floor for a bit. Finally, he speaks. "Did your family visit you in the station before we left?"

"Yeah," I say, swallowing. "Did yours?" Sean only has his mother, now. His dad left their family before Sean was even born, and no one's seen him since. We suspect he's working somewhere in the Capitol, still ducking the responsibility of caring for his family.

He nods. "Mum came. And Match. And Kat."

At that last name, his dark eyes become less intense, but more disconsolate. "I hope you don't mind that I kissed her."

I look at him, quickly. "You _what?_"

He glances at me, a bit defiantly. "I kissed her."

I smile slightly. "Did you mean it?"

"Yeah," Sean says, and looks a little embarrassed.

"Then I don't mind. And I'm pretty positive Kat didn't, either."

At that, he grins. "She didn't. She kissed me back."

"Good," I say, glancing at him sideways.

He frowns, and pounds his fist into his hand several times, angrily.

"The Capitol is taking away my whole future, Hanni. I wanted to turn eighteen, buy my own house, marry Kat, and have a family. I wanted to grow old and _rot _in District Five."

"I know," I answer, because I do know.

Sean's only fifteen, and I'm only sixteen. On average, we had about fifty years left each, barring accidents. And the Capitol has just taken that from us.

Fifty years. Who knows what have happened in fifty years? Probably a lot. Good _and _bad. But at least there would have been something good, instead of all bad, like our futures look now.

* * *

An hour later, after we've sat brooding silently for a while, I realize that it's time to go talk to the mentors. Looking over at Sean, I notice that he has fallen asleep, leaning against the pillows.

Leaning over, I shake his arm. "Sean."

He awakes with a jolt, and sits up.

"We have to go talk to the mentors, now," I remind him. "It's been an hour."

"Oh, right," he says, and slides off the bed. Sean seems a little calmer, now that he got to rest for a bit, and we've talked it through. He's still kind of sulky though, at the thought of talking to the mentors.

Sean scowls at himself in the mirror, reaches up, and messes up his dark brown hair on purpose.

Whatever. Boys are strange.

I notice that the lamp pieces are gone... and Sean certainly didn't do it, like he was supposed to. I guess an Avox must have sneaked in while we were unaware, and swept it up. Hopefully Blaze either won't notice, or won't care.

We walk down the hall to the room with the television, where Blaze and Jamalia are supposedly waiting for us. However, when we enter the room, neither of them are there. Sean plops down on the couch, on the end. I sit down next to him, and we wait.

After about three minutes, Jamalia and Blaze arrive.

"I see you're prompt. Very nice," Blaze says with a grunt, before seating himself in an arm chair where he has a good view of the television.

Jamalia sits down on the opposite side of me than Sean, and tucks her legs up under her.

I study her for a minute. I don't know much about Jamalia's Games... I don't even know how she won. She never has talked about it, whenever I've seen her. Kat is the only one of us who knows her very well. Jamalia seems like a quieter person, and she certainly doesn't _seem _brutal.

The next moment I'm distracted by Blaze flipping on the television, with a remote by his chair. He looks over at Sean and I, and explains.

"They're playing the recapping of this morning's Reapings. I want you two to watch them, and point out the tributes that you think look menacing, like a problem, or like a potential ally. Of course, most of this we won't know until training starts."

The Capitol emblem flashes, and the anthem plays briefly. Then, the Reapings start being played back, starting with District 1.

Instead of the faces flashing by in a blur, I can't help noticing every single individual tribute that is Reaped. They're all kids, just like me, and only one of them will make it out of the arena. I don't catch any of their names though, but I'm determined to learn them all by the time we go into the arena.

_District 1_: A tall, delicately handsome boy volunteers. A girl's name is announced, but before the name is even fully pronounced, a tiny, petite girl about the size of a nine-year-old volunteers in her place. She may be tiny, but the look on her face is anything but cute.

_District 2:_ A brother and sister volunteer, and ascend the platform to cheers from the crowd. They look like a tough team to beat, being extremely fit and hard-looking. They're rather typical looking District 2 tributes... and that particular District wins very often.

_District 3:_ Two rather pale looking children are Reaped... both of them appear only about thirteen. No one volunteers in their stead. The girl bursts out crying when she's chosen.

_District 4: _Both tributes from 4 are volunteers. The boy doesn't strike me as anything in particular, but the girl looks intimidating. She's about six feet tall, and her dark green eyes are fierce.

_District 5: _This is us. I watch as Sean is Reaped, and then me. I try and see us through another viewer's eyes, and don't think either of us look like anything special.

_District 6: _A sallow, unfriendly looking boy is Reaped, and he remains expressionless throughout. The girl is strikingly beautiful, and unnervingly calm when Reaped. At least ten different people cry out when her name is drawn, however.

_District 7: _The boy is red-headed, and handsome as all get-out. He's quiet going up onto the stage, but his eyes are anything _but _quiet. They're darting back and forth rapidly, taking in his surroundings. The girl isn't a volunteer, but from the way she struts on stage, she might as well be.

_District 8:_ The two tributes are pale and scrawny, and look extremely scared. I think they're both over fourteen, but my guess is that they look younger than they are because of the lack of food and good housing in 8.

_District 9: _The boy is a beautiful child, only about twelve. His blonde hair shines in the sun when he mounts to the platform, and I spot his parents weeping behind the fence. The girl tribute is older, with her hair in two braids, and she's biting her lip nervously, the whole time.

_District 10: _Two sturdy looking farm children are Reaped here. They show little emotion, but it's obvious that they have many family members are friends in the crowd, because a brief, wide-spread outcry is given at their being Reaped.

_District 11: _The girl is largish, with beautiful big brown eyes, and a peaceful look on her face, even as she mounts the platform. The boy is a bit younger, but his reaction is a bit more like Sean's, which is to ignore everybody, even though he looks mad.

_District 12: _An olive-skinned boy is Reaped, and he stalks onto the platform with a rebellious vehemence that gets him a dirty look from the Capitol people, that quickly quells him. The girl is a tiny little thing, and she walks forward slowly, obviously realizing her coming doom more and more with each step.

Blaze turns the television off. "Okay, what'd you think?"

I stare at him blankly. "It doesn't matter what I think." Deciding that this is as good a time as any to tell him that Sean and I won't be even trying, I speak up again, explaining. "We don't stand a chance. Besides, we've made up our minds not to fight."

Blaze and Jamalia just stare at us, unbelieving. "_What?_" Jamalia manages.

Sean picks up where I left off. "We're not going to fight. I don't want to kill people," he says, folding his arms.

"Me neither," I put in. "We can't and we won't."

For all our brave words, I'm quaking inside. I've stated my position, and I can't turn back now.

Blaze stands up, and starts pacing the room, angrily. "Okay. I get it." He turns and glares at us. "Once again, I get to mentor and send two tributes into the arena, who don't have even a hope of winning. Year after year, it happens. Two innocent, spineless kids, torn out of District 5, and thrown into an arena full of bloodthirsty Capitol pets, and get ripped to shreds!"

He's shouting now. "Again! Every year, I come home, and see the disappointment, hopelessness, and grief in their parents eyes, and I can't do anything about it. Because I'm guilty. I won in the first place, and get stuck trying to help hopeless cases to win _their _Games!"

Jamalia stands up, walks over to him, and slaps him across the face, before he can continue his rant. "Shut up, Blaze," she says.

He stands there staring at her, and finally the red mist seems to seep from his eyes, and he's left looking exhausted. "I-I'm sorry," Blaze mutters. He walks back to his chair, and sits himself down, head in his hands.

Jamalia stands where he left her, motionless.

Sean and I don't know what to say. Blaze doesn't even make sense.

Does he hate the Capitol, himself, or us? Perhaps it's all three.


	5. Chapter 5: Arrival at the Capitol

**Here's the next chapter! I apologize for the lengthy wait. I won't let so much time go by, before the next one! A ton of busy stuff was going on for me, so, you get the idea. **

**Oh! And! I am taking suggestions for tribute names. Take a look at the list of tributes and their districts from the reaping video played in Chapter Four. If you see a tribute description that catches your eye, and you think you have a good name for them, feel free to suggest it! Depending on the District I may not accept it, (I have a name for a couple of them already,) but please, please suggest names if you have them! =)**

**Please comment/review, it makes my day when you do! Let me know what you think about the characters, settings, and everything in general so far. **

**I've got some great characters that will be making their debuts in the next couple chapters, that I hope you'll like as much as I do! **

**~ThatFoolOfATook**

Chapter 5: Arrival at the Capitol

* * *

Blaze sits, silent, for about two hours.

Jamalia is staring at the wall, and Sean and I are staring at our mentors. None of us even feel like getting up, and since we're lost in our own thoughts, the time flies by.

The door to the room opening interrupts us, and Keelgan walks in.

"We're approaching the station in an hour," he tells us, gloomily, at the sight of all of our grim faces. "Though it doesn't look like any of you are in a good mood to receive the news."

"Thank you, Keelgan," Jamalia says automatically. She breaks out of her wall-staring trance, and turns towards him. "I think we're all just a little tired."

We don't have to travel through the night, because our Reaping was scheduled earlier in the day, and our District is positioned closer to the Capitol. The Districts 11, 12, 6, and 8 are the ones who get an overnight journey. Even as it is, we're due to arrive in the Capitol at about eight o'clock in the evening. This afternoon has _flown_ by.

"Hanni, Sean?" We look at Jamalia. She walks over to us, and puts a hand on each of our shoulders.

Sean flinches, but at a glare from me, he lets our mentor's hand stay put.

Jamalia continues. "I understand your decision. I'm not going to force you to do what you don't want to do. But will you make me a promise?"

I look at her, a little warily. I don't know Jamalia that well, Kat was the one who knew her, and so I can't tell what she's thinking.

"That depends on the promise," Sean answers for me.

Jamalia sighs. "Don't _try _and be killed in the arena."

"What?" I'm confused.

"As in- don't throw yourself in front of a spear, wade into quicksand, or make fun of a Career!"

Oh.

"So," I answer, "don't seek out death, but just let death seek _us_?"

"Yes!" Jamalia says. "Exactly."

Sean and I look at each other.

"Frankly," I say, "I'm not that excited about dying. So I don't think you have to worry, Jamalia."

"Same here," Sean says. "We'll just survive as long as we can without having to kill." He hesitates. "But- I'm not so sure about the 'avoiding making fun of a Career' part. Since I'm going to die anyway, why not?"

Sighing again, Jamalia sits down without answering. To our surprise, Blaze is the one who answers Sean's query.

"Careers are ugly, kid." He stands up, and strides towards the door. "You get on the wrong side of one of them, and they'll make sure your death lasts twelve hours, at least."

I shudder. He's right. I've seen it, in previous Games… a reckless tribute mocks a Career, and ends up being carved very slowly into twenty pieces.

Sean shrugs, and frowns. "Alright, I try not to, then. But I'll be wanting to, the whole time."

"And I won't blame you," I put in. "The Careers are nasty."

"Capitol pets," Jamalia agrees. Then an odd expression crosses her face, and she purses her lips, and steps back. Her voice reaches a higher pitch. "No. I didn't mean that. It's a worthy cause. They train for the Games, so they can take the place of other kids, who are less prepared! That's all it is."

She suddenly turns away from us. "I-I need to talk to Keelgan. I'll find you when we arrive at the Capitol."

Jamalia hurriedly leaves the room.

Sean looks at me, perplexed. "What was _that _about?"

"I'm not sure," I say. "But I wonder if Jamalia teamed up with a Career during her Games."

As we sit listening to the sounds of the train, Sean speaks up suddenly.

"I'm glad I'm not going to win," he says abruptly.

"Why?" I ask, curious.

"I don't want to turn out like Blaze and Jamalia. What's the use of winning, if you're tortured by the memory for the rest of your life? Look at them!"

Sean turned towards me. "The real victor of the Games is the Capitol. Not the tribute. All the 'victor' wins is a cheap crown, the love of the hateful, and the hate of the ones whose opinions should matter."

Out of the mouths of babes and fifteen-year-old boys. Sometimes teenage boys are idiots, and other times they surprise you with their wisdom.

"Pretty much," I say, quietly.

* * *

We arrive at the Capitol exactly an hour later. As we pull into the station, our train is received with loud cheers and applause from all the people who have gathered to see in person two of the twenty-four 'lucky' children chosen to be their bloody entertainment for this year.

With Keelgan Flanderfling in front, and Jamalia and Blaze flanking us, Sean and I move down the steps onto the platform. Keelgan has his scary, droopy smile plastered on his protesting face again, and he waves at the crowd.

I don't know how Sean and I are supposed to be acting, but I refuse to smile. I couldn't if I tried, anyway. At a hiss from Keelgan, however, I condescend to give a small wave in the general direction of the crowd.

Sean won't even do that much, however. He stalks staunchly beside me, and if I didn't know what a polite, good-tempered, and sweet boy he was, I'd say he was grinding his teeth, and mumbling dirty things under his breath.

That was sarcasm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that we appear to have arrived at the Capitol at the same time as another District's tributes. Their entourage is appearing down the steps of another train, on the opposite side of the platform.

The Capitol people are unintentionally crowding my view of the two new tributes, but through small glimpses, I gather that these are the tributes of District 7.

The red-haired boy, and the strutting girl, I remember.

As the crowd parts to let the District 7 people through, I notice that the girl has a huge grin on her face. She's not interacting with the Capitol people much, but you can tell that she's happy to be here.

_How strange_, I think, _that someone would relish the thought of being taken away from his or her family, and sent into an arena to kill other teenagers. It's just not natural. _

But since when was the Capitol natural? And if you're dense enough to swallow all of the Capitol propaganda, then I guess you don't pay attention to traditional standards of morality anymore.

My eyes trail from the girl to the District 7 boy. He appears to be ignoring the crowd, and looking at the scenery instead. But after a moment, he starts watching people in the crowd and around him.

His gaze flits from one person to another, and for an instant, it lands on me. He gives me a cheerful grin, before moving on to the next person.

Oooookay. Well, he appears to be friendly, whatever else he may be.

I forget him for now, as our group moves away.

"To the Remake Center!" Keelgan announces.

* * *

The Remake Center is huge.

As soon as we walk in the door, Sean is whisked one direction, and I'm whisked the other.

"See you later," I call over my shoulder to him, and he nods back, while being marched away by Blaze.

Jamalia and Keelgan lead me up a small flight of stairs at the front of the building, that lead to the elevator hall. Entering one of these, I stare in wonder down at my feet. It's clear glass below me, which leads to the feeling that I'll fall through the floor, and go crashing down onto the floor below.

However, I do NOT fall immediately, and the elevator moves upwards at a sickening speed. Maybe I'll throw up instead of fall.

Before I can make up my mind which to do first, the elevator stops, and I'm hustled out into a long white hallway, with only an occasional person in sight.

"This way," Keelgan points, and I follow him down the hall, and into a small room. Here, I am told to wait, and Jamalia and Keelgan leave.

So, I wait. And wait. And wait.

Apparently, they aren't in much of a hurry to remake me, since the Opening Ceremonies aren't even until tomorrow night.

It's getting late, and I want to go to bed. But, finally, the door opens, and a nightmare sticks her head in.

The nightmare comes in the form of a woman, who has orange hair spiked up on her head so it stands at a foot above her brow. Her face is weirdly painted, and is rather grotesque, with silver designs almost obscuring her features, except for her blazing bright green eyes. Like, VERY bright. She must be wearing contacts or something else to change her eye color, because no one is born with eyes that color.

The Nightmare walks over to my chair, and grins at me, like a Cheshire Cat. "He_llo_, dear," shes says, waaaay too perkily. "I'm Dreamy Jingles, your STYLIST!"

"So, you're here to make me look nice?" I ask, a bit resentfully. I quite like the way I look now, thank you very much.

"I'm here to make you look like a Dream," she corrects me, with a wink.

Oh, _boy_.

She looks me over. "Most stylists prefer to work on their assigned tributes after the tribute has already been picked over," Dreamy says. "But I prefer to oversee the _entire _process!"

She gives me a frown.

"However, I can't do anything with someone who looks like they're about to fall asleep."

Dreamy puts her fingers in her mouth, and gives a sharp whistle.

Keelgan pokes his head around the edge of the door. "Yes, Dreamy?"

"Take Miss Lockheart to her quarters, and see that she gets some sleep. I need a fresh, energetic tribute to work on, not a drowsy one who will fall asleep in the middle of everything."

"Of course, Dreamy," Keelgan says, eagerly. "I'll see that she is taken care of, and will be fresh by morning." He gives Dreamy a puppy-dog look that looks VERY strange on his normally droopy face.

He kind of looks like a love-sick basset-hound. Trust me, I've seen pictures in school.

Anyway, so Keelgan marches me out of the room, away from Dreamy, who is watching every move I make with a critical eye that makes me shudder. Tomorrow will not be pleasant.

Well, for that matter, I don't think any of my remaining days here at the Capitol will be pleasant.

And I get to die at the end of them.


	6. Chapter 6: Peregrination

**Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews... NOT. Seriously- would you please, please, please, please, pretty-please with sugar on top leave a review? It doesn't take that long, guys. **

**It's really depressing that I haven't gotten any reviews for the past several chapters, except from two of my good friends in real life. =P**

**It doesn't motivate me to write, at all. =( For the first two chapters, you guys were so good at reviewing! Even just a sentence or two of review made my day. But now, it's like no one's even reading it anymore! And I would REALLY like to know how my story is. How you like it. How you like the characters. **

**Anyway, here's the next chapter. If I don't start receiving a few more reviews, than it'll probably be forever until I post again, because I'm going to go wallow in the mire of despair and disappointment, and I might get stuck.  
**

**PLEASE review. PLEASE.**

**Hope you like this chapter! =) Sorry its not really long... I'm working on that. **

* * *

The next morning, I'm woken up by an obnoxious knocking at the door.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

Who on earth?!

I sit up.

"Come in," I say groggily, while tugging the hem of my tank top down, since it had ridden up during the night. I hadn't exactly had good dreams.

"Hanni!" says a familiar voice, and Sean bursts in the door.

"Wow," I say, staring at him. "As embarrassing as this is to admit, you look good."

Sean's skin has a ruddy glow, and he's wearing a dark red T-shirt, and khakis. His dark hair is actually brushed, (for once,) and it's been styled a bit, so it doesn't just look scruffy, like it normally does. (Don't get me wrong- Sean's hair isn't that bad, normally. But he doesn't usually take the time to style it.)

His face... well, lets just say that I'm glad Kat isn't in the room, or she wouldn't be breathing. Sean's stylist apparently did SOMETHING to remove his tiny traces of acne that he had had, and his brown eyes have been somehow enhanced.

The only odd thing about his face is that he's been given turquoise eyeliner. Which looks kind of weird. But compared to what some Capitol stylists do to the poor tributes, that isn't bad at all.

So, he looks good.

Sean makes a face. "The eyeliner wasn't my idea. Actually, none of it was my idea. But thanks, I guess."

He's cheered up a little, I think. Last night, he wasn't doing so hot.

I venture a question.

"So, how are you doing?"

His excitement fades just barely, and he slumps down into a sitting position on my bed. "Eh, I'm fine. Sorry for being a grouch yesterday."

"That's okay," I say. "Sean Lighter is usually a grouch when he's upset. And we like you anyway, so don't worry."

He grins a little bit.

"Thanks, Hanni."

Then he sits up straighter. "I have made a decision!"

I stare at him. "Oookay?"

Sean with a new decision or resolution is usually either really good, or really bad. Never in-between.

Standing up, he grabs my hand, and drags me out of bed.

"Ouch! Sean!" I protest, as I hit the floor, and staggeringly bounce back up. "What the _heck!"_

Still holding my hand, he flings open my bedroom door with his other arm, and pulls me into the hall.

"We may be stuck in the Capitol," Sean says. "We may be doomed to a horrible death. We may be noble, courageous, steadfast, and honorable. But I am NOT going to let my last few days be wasted."

The Maniac named Sean is still holding onto my arm, and he proceeds to drag me down the long hall, while a couple Avox's stare.

"Sean, what are you DOING?" I ask, breathless. "I am in my PAJAMAS. We are in the CAPITOL. You are INSANE."

"No I'm not!" Sean says, protesting. He halts for a second, and glances at what I'm wearing. "And you look fine. It's decent."

Green tank top. Purple pajama shorts. Red hair in a straggly mess. Yeah, it's decent. But it's not exactly attractive.

Something is up with Sean, because I've never seen him this congenial in a tough situation before.

"Sean, what's up?" I repeat. "Seriously."

He stops again, and turns to me. "Okay. 1: We're in The Capitol, the capitol of interesting sights, and weird people. 2: We're going to die in a few days. 3: We were all depressed yesterday."

Sean smiles. "So, we're going to have fun. I was thinking it over last night, (they put ME to bed too, finally, they just got me up at 4 A.M.,) and I think we should make these last few days count. Try new things. Bug Blaze and Jamalia to death. Make friends. Explore."

He raises an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

It makes sense. It totally makes sense!

And it's just the right thing to get my mind off our approaching doom.

"Sean, that sounds awesome," I tell him. "But- right now- I mean, Dreamy will be showing up any time, to drag me off to be styled."

"Yeah, well," he says. "She has to find us first. And the Parade isn't until tonight. Some of the tributes haven't even arrived yet!"

"True," I muse. "Okay. Give me five minutes."

And with that, I smile really big, for the first time in a day and a half. And I take off down the hall back towards my bedroom.

Once inside, I change as fast as I possibly can. I switch my pajama shorts out for jeans, and throw a white over-shirt on, over my green tank top.

I put my ear to the door.

No sound of Dreamy or anyone coming.

I yank open the door, and briskly stroll down the hall again, back towards Sean, who is impatiently waiting for me by the elevator.

As he puts forward his hand to press the elevator button, I call out. "No! Wait."

"Why?" he asks, puzzled.

"Everyone will see us coming down on the elevator. I'll get caught, and dragged off to be submitted to dreadful tortures under the stylists."

I make a face at him. "You're lucky- they already did your makeover. All they have to do to _you,_ now, is dress you up for the Parade. They haven't done _anything_ to me yet."

"Yeah, well." Sean says, pushing the elevator summons button anyway. "Dreamy probably won't be down there. We'll just pretend to be going on a stroll."

The elevator arrives, and we step inside.

"We _are _going on a stroll," I put in.

"True," Sean grins. "How far do you think we can get, before they stop us?"

"Eh... not very."

"Probably."

The humming elevator arrives on the ground floor, with a beep that signals the doors to open.

"Where to first?" I hiss.

"The other side of the building. You can only access it by a staircase, which lies across the room from us right now," Sean answers.

"Why there?" I ask, as we mosey across the room, trying not to look like we know where we're going.

Sean ducks behind a planter in the lobby, which contains a huge bush of some sort. I dart after him.

"Because that's where some of the other tributes are," Sean explains patiently. "We can spy on them."

"Spy?!" I stand up straight. "Sean! Don't be a illogical doofus. If we spy on people, they'll mark us down as 'to be killed', because they'll notice us, and think we're analyzing their abilities."

"Ssh!" Sean tells me.

"Don't 'ssh' me!" I retort. "I'm older than you."

"Well, you may be older, but you're not acting brighter," Sean whispers. "Look."

Fuming, I peek through the gap in the bush that he pulls apart. Standing only about twenty feet away, is Dreamy Jingles, talking with Jamalia.

They're gesturing wildly, and Dreamy is tapping her foot angrily.

"...was still asleep!" Jamalia's voice wafts towards us.

"Well, she's not now!" Dreamy says, emphatically. "How am I supposed to do my job, if my tribute disappears?!"

Oops. My absence from my room has been taken note of.

Jamalia and Dreamy move towards the elevator that we just came from. "...check again," Dreamy is saying, as their voices fade away.

"Come on."

Sean grabs my arm again, and we sprint the last few feet to the staircase, up the steps, and around the corner to the next flight.

"Anyway, it'll be fun," he says. "We'll make sure they don't see us."

"Sure," I say, doubtfully. I'm all for making our last few days memorable in some good ways along _with _the bad, but this seems like it could end badly.

Seriously, the Careers will target anyone who poses any danger in any way. _And_ those who don't. But they receive a special delight in making long, dramatic deaths out of anyone who annoyed them in the slightest.

And what we're doing could _probably _classify as a little bit annoying.

But if it cheers Sean up to go spying, then I guess I'll go along.

This is the first time I've seen him _so_ interested in something, since the time when we were eight and nine, and we thought it was a good idea to tie five-year-old Jem up in our playhouse in the woods, and mail an anonymous ransom note for a large sum of money to my dad, as a way to raise our amount of spending money, so we could buy my dad a birthday present.

For some strange reason, Match, who had been eleven, had messed everything up by releasing our hostage, and telling my dad what we were doing. I mean, it had all been in good fun, right? And the people of our portion of District 5 had only been a _little _panicky, when Jem was missing for two days.

Anyway. It was fun while it lasted, and until we were old enough to realize that we almost gave my sturdy dad a heart attack.

Coming back to the present, however, Sean appears to be having fun.

We're trying to forget what's coming in the Arena, and this is as good a way as any. I'd rather die with some good memories fresh in my head, than die with the kind of thoughts that were running through my head when I first got Reaped.

So, up, up, up the stairs we go, until we come to the top, where there's another long hallway, going to each side. The walls are white, the floor is white, and the ceiling is white, so it's almost blindingly bright.

We pause where we are, and listen carefully.

There's no people in the hall, so after a silent dispute over whether to go left or right, we take the hall to the left. (_My _choice.) There's doors everywhere, but they're all shut.

Tiptoeing quietly, we freeze every time we hear a sound. Finally, we come upon a room with the door cracked open.

Sean walks a little ahead of me, and we approach it as softly as we can, wondering what's inside. I don't think he and I have ever lost that curiosity of what's on the inside of every door, even if we _are _responsible teenagers now. Ahem.

There's people inside.

Two children. Tributes.

They're waiting, probably for their stylist to show up.

I flash back through faces in my head, and match these two kids up with being the tributes of District 3. They're both fairly young, and look overworked and pale.

"Poor kids. No chance at all," Sean mouths silently at me, and makes as if to walk away.

But I poke him, and slip inside the room. The two children jump, startled, when they hear the door open. They look up, most likely expecting to see their stylist.

"Hey," I say, and smile.

The girl tribute jumps up, and backs away from me. 'Wh-what are you doing here? Who are you?"

"They're the District 5 tributes," the boy answers her for me, and stands up. He has dead-black hair, which makes his pale face look really creepy, since he won't smile. "Scouting out the tributes, and planning to kill us first in the Arena, since we're pitifully weak."

District 3 is one of the most contradictory districts, as far as the people go. Some years the kids get slaughtered at the Cornucopia, due to their weakness. Some years, though, at least one of their tributes are brilliant, and end up using their technical knowledge to win the Games in a day.

"That's not why we're here," I say. I try and smile reassuringly at the girl. "I promise. We're being insubordinate, and exploring where we're not supposed to be."

Sean snorts, from behind me. "_And, _we're escaping from Hanni's stylist."

"Hanni? Is that your name?" The girl steps forward a little tentatively, but bravely sticks out her hand. "I-I'm Bytela."

I shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, _so _nice," says the boy, sneering. "Why don't you two just get out of here? Don't you think it's depressing enough around here, without having to meet two kids who we'll either have to kill, watch be killed, or be killed by?"

This makes Sean ruffle up. "No need to be churlish," he says, scowling. "I was going to walk away, but Hanni wanted to come in."

"His name is Jase," Bytela says, nodding her head at the boy.

"Shut _up," _Jase says, furiously. "We don't want to know their names. We don't want them to know our names. We want them to _go away._"

"Maybe _you _do," Bytela tells him. "But they were just being polite, Jase."

"Ah, it's okay," I assure her. Maybe we should leave, since Jase doesn't seem to fancy any company right now. "We were just popping in for a minute. I think we should get going now, anyway!"

"Yes, you should," says a familiar voice from the door.

Sean and I whirl around, to find Blaze scowling at us from the doorway.

"Oh-er, Blaze!" Sean starts. "We, um, got lost, and-"

"Yeah, right, kid," Blaze snarls. "Who do you think you're fooling? You have no business in this room, or even on this side of the building."

He holds the door open, and gestures for us to walk ahead of him through it. "After you."

Oh, dear.


End file.
